


Last Call

by amandroid



Category: Game Grumps, Markiplier-fandom
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bartender AU, Dialogue Heavy, Drinking, M/M, eyeboning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 09:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandroid/pseuds/amandroid
Summary: Sometimes all bartenders can do is let people bitch about their problems.





	Last Call

**Author's Note:**

> So I began this story when Mark had red hair but I honestly liked the idea of him looking how he looks in the "Disco Discomfort" video that when he dyed it back to his natural hair-color, I didn't change it. 
> 
> Part 1 of 2 :)

A low cough, then-

 

“Heeeey...so...are you just gonna order Pepsi’s all night, dude?” 

 

Dan gave a shake to attention as a velvety deep male voice snaps him out of his reverie, not doing anything but staring at the tiny bubbles popping in his soda and putting off going home. 

 

He lifted his head and heat immediately rose to his face along with it. 

 

The guy is leaning against the bar, raising his thick black eyebrows at him, wine red lips poised on the edge of a wry smile. His red-dyed hair is swept to the side of his head, hanging over his forehead, the black roots showing through with the dark hair cut shorter on the sides. Only because it's right in front of him, Dan has an eyeful of the bartender’s tight clingy metallic red button-up shirt straining against a broad, well-muscled chest. 

 

"Uh..." Dan averted his gaze and chuckles nervously. "Sorry. Is that allowed?" 

 

The bartender gave a modest shrug. "I mean...sure it's allowed...you just look like you need something a bit stronger to deal with whatever is on your mind." 

 

"I, uh..." Dan idly plucked his jacket sleeve. "I don't really...drink." 

 

“Oh. Why not?” 

 

Considering he was talking to a bartender, Dan didn’t feel like right admitting he was a total lightweight when it came to alcohol. It was near closing hours and the guy was probably ready to go home, being bored having to refill his Pepsi over and over while Dan cleared his head. Then again, he didn’t seem overly annoyed and ready to hustle him out, only curious. "I don't really...like most kinds of drinks." 

 

With that, the bartender seemed to perk up. "Yeah? What kinds do you like? Better yet, I'm sure I could whip you up something you might like." The bartender leaned down and pulled out various bottles of different spirits: vodka, rum, gin, tequila and whiskey and set them on the gleaming counter. 

 

"Um..." Dan wasn’t expecting the bartender to take that as an offer but he was momentarily game. Dan crossed his arms and leaned further forward on the bartop. "What do you recommend?" 

 

The bartender smirked at that. "Depends. Do you like your drinks sour, sweet or do you like more of a burning aftertaste?” 

 

Dan chuckled and gave a sheepish shake of his head. "Um...maybe hold off on the burning aftertaste one for now." 

 

"Aw, c'mon. Not into the coughing and hacking?" The bartender sucked his teeth. "Alright then...something smoother?" He grabbed one of the bottles of vodka and held up for Dan to see better. "Something like this or maybe flavored?" 

 

Dan rolled his eyes as if in thought. He did have a mixed drink or two he preferred on the occasion he did find himself drinking but part of him wanted to draw things out a bit more. The bartender seemed nice and willing to put up with his lightweight indecisiveness, not to mention he was more than a little curious to see what his responses would end up getting. Whatever it was, he was sure just a little bit would make him completely shit-faced. 

 

"Ehhh, I'm not really into vodka. The lack of taste is kinda a deal breaker for me, y'know?" 

 

"I getcha." He set the bottle of vodka down and pointed to Dan. "But no burning aftertaste, right?" 

 

Dan snorted and ducked his head, a tiny smile creeping across his face. "Right." 

 

The bartender scratched at his patchy black whiskers in thought. "Sooooo back to my original question...do you want something more sour or sweet?" 

 

Dan thought for a moment and then said. "Sweet. But...smooth." 

 

The bartender stepped away and turned to pull and examine bottles off the shelf behind him and Dan's eyes couldn't help widening at the sight of the bartender practically poured into oil-black tight leather pants that hugged a really curvy ass that almost had him drooling. 

 

Dan frowned to himself. Where did that impulse come from? 

 

"Are you opposed to anything say...honey-flavored?" The bartender said over his shoulder, making Dan jump to attention on his barstool. 

 

"N-no..." He coughed and tried to look away from the bartender's backside, not focusing at all on the way the dark leather rippled and pulled against his lower body. "H-honey flavored is good." 

 

The bartender chuckled in the affirmative. "So I saw you play with your band earlier..."

 

"Oh, yeah, that was..." Dan frowned at the memory and fussed with his hair. He had spent the whole time after the gig was over forgetting it even happened. "That was me." 

 

"Ah. So that's why you were kinda down in the dumps." The bartender turned and set down a squat ridged bottle with a bear attacking a beehive on the label. "How about some Barenjager?"

 

"Never heard of it but sure." 

 

"Straight or on the rocks?" 

 

"On the rocks." 

 

With a rattle, the bartender plunked two ice cubes in a glass from the metal ice bucket under the counter and poured the golden Barenjager out in the shimmering glass and gave a cough. "So tell Markiemoo all about it." 

 

Dan snorted hard. " 'Markiemoo'?" 

 

"Hey, it's my nickname, alright? I own up to it. Granted, it's better than the one I had in high school. It was Markle Sparkles and no-" he pointed an accusing finger at Dan, still smiling with good humor. "-you can't ask the story behind it." 

 

Dan held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, fine. I can't take 'Markiemoo' seriously, though, I have to say..." 

 

Mark rolled his eyes with exaggerated, mocking exasperation. "Ugh, fiiiine. Just tell MARK what the deal is. I'm a bartender so I'm kinda obligated to listen to people bitch about their problems."

 

With that, Mark scooted the glass of Barenjager the short distance over to Dan and he took a small, experimental sip. It was very rich and heady as it flowed over his tongue and down his throat, but it was indeed smooth and sweet, warming its way down his throat and settling into his upper chest like a slow burning but honeyed fire. He had to admit, Mark knew his stuff. On the other hand, he had to admit as well he was going to maybe regret this in the morning. 

 

Dan gulped and set the glass down. "I mean...there's not that much to tell. You were here so you saw...well, you saw our guitarist break his guitar in the middle of our set and then realize like 'Oh shit, that only works when you have a backup guitar' so that's why he did that weird dance and shuffled off the stage." 

 

Mark covered his mouth partially with his hand and Dan found himself surprised and a little scared by the deep rich laughter that came out, like the sound of rocks tumbling in Mark’s chest. "Yeah, I did see that, unfortunately. God, I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” 

 

“Oh, that’s not the end of it. What you don’t know is that our band is actually six people, so already we had two people not show up because of...I don’t know, they got the wrong address or they decided to not come for whatever reason.” Dan sighed and rubbed his face, putting a head in his hand, more weary than irritated at this point. “I’d be more pissed but this isn’t the first time shows have gone to shit and I’m stuck holding the bag.” 

 

“Well...if it’s any consolation, I thought that acoustic set was kind of nice.” 

 

Dan’s lips twisted, caught between genuinely flattered and just minimizing the compliment. So much had gone wrong, it was hard to see the silver lining, except that they did get paid for it in the end.

 

“It was only because once the guitarist was gone, the bassist was just like ‘Fuck it’ and left too. I only know a couple of songs on guitar so...I guess it could have been a lot worse.” 

 

“Heh...Well, I think you have a beautiful singing voice so…” 

 

Maybe it was the Barenjager curling in a warm spiral in his stomach but Dan felt his face split into a goofy, flattered grin despite himself as he looked up at Mark. “You think so?” 

 

“Uh!...I mean…” Mark rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling bashfully. “Nevermind, that’s kind of-”

 

Dan’s smile widened as his fingers loosely wrapped around his drink glass. “Nooo, you said I had a beautiful voice. Don’t backtrack, man. I appreciate it, though. Too bad I don’t have one of our CD’s with me.” 

 

“Ah, maybe you could...add me to your mailing list or something. Is that unicorn song on your CD?” 

 

Dan shook his head. “Naw, that’s just a song I happen to like, though it probably wasn’t right for the crowd we got.” 

 

Mark snorted and pursed his lips. “Ah, fuck ‘em. What do they know?  _ I _ liked it, so there.” 

 

“Well, you didn’t  _ pay _ to get in, you just happened to work here…” 

 

“-And I’m glad I did.” Mark interrupted, trailing into a sigh as he ran a hand through his crimson hair, the tone of his voice coming out more wistful and quiet. “I just...I couldn’t take my eyes off you…”

 

Dan’s stomach dropped suddenly and they both locked eyes and instantly giggled at the same time, timid in an effort to squash the odd, awkward moment. At least that was why Dan was laughing. He assumed Mark did for the same reason but he had no real way of knowing for sure. 

 

“Um...heh, what I mean by that was-” 

 

Dan hummed as he took another sip, pursing his lips in challenge. “Oh please, I’m  _ dying _ to know what you really meant.” 

 

Are you actually flirting with this guy? a cool but suspicious voice cooed in his ear. He tried to justify it with the fact that seeing Mark try to save face was really amusing. That’s all it was...right? Definitely, it had nothing to do with the attractive color creeping across Mark’s high cheekbones...right?

 

Mark sighed heavily and crossed his arms, making the metallic fabric of his shirt ripple and pull, so much Dan was positive one of those tiny buttons holding his shirt closed might pop right off. “I mean, it’s really-” He scoffed and his eyes shifted, hesitant. “You know ‘Legend of Zelda: Link to the Past’?” 

 

Well. That was a direction he didn’t expect Mark to take. “Yeah?” 

 

Mark laughed with quiet relief, his expression softening. “You know the part where you go into the Lost Woods and you find the boy playing the flute and all the forest animals are gathered around him but when you try to get close, he disappears?” Mark passed a hand through his hair. “That’s kind of what it reminded me of, like…” He huffed with mild frustration but still plowing ahead “...like stumbling on this magical being communing with the creatures of the forest and the moment you got too close, it’d just disappear because you’re...I don’t know, you’re not worthy of hearing it, I guess…”

 

“Oh.” That really wasn’t he was expecting Mark to say. Even though he knew it came from a good place, the compliments he heard were usually that he sounded like a particular singer. He knew he should have found it flattering but it annoyed him more than it should have deep down. He didn’t want to sound like anybody else. He wanted to sound unique, like himself and nobody else. 

 

Once he was able to absorb what Mark had to say fully, he wasn’t sure how to take it. Surely, nobody had ever complimented him like that before and he was way too pleased on the inside at the fact that Mark had referenced maybe his favorite game ever to do it. 

 

He looked down at his glass of golden liqueur and took a larger swallow, rolling his teeth over his lips, trying to hide the flattered smile breaking across his face. "Heh. Thanks...I have to say nobody's given me that kind of compliment before..."

 

Mark sputtered and shook his head. "I mean, whatever...I don't know shit about music so-" 

 

Dan laughed softly, waving a hand. "It's okay. I..." He shrugged. "I've had kind of a shitty night so it's nice to hear. Not for nothing, 'Link to the Past' is one of my favorite games so..." 

 

The house lights were still going on but Dan could see a faint glimmer in Mark's coffee-black eyes as he idly cleaned a glass with a rag. "What's your name?" 

 

"Dan," he said. 

 

"Well, Dan...I'm glad I could help out in..." he rolled his eyes. "- _ some _ small way. Do you feel a little better?" 

 

"Mmm." Dan had been listening to Mark but his eyes, like a cat trained on the slightest bit of movement, was watching the muscles of Mark's arms flex as he turned the glass with his other hand, the gesture natural but skillful. "Mmm  _ hmm _ ..."

 

He had been focused on Mark's hands so it made it all the stranger when Mark placed the glass down on the bartop with a sharp clack, making Dan snap out of his dreamy state, blinking rapidly as a guilty heat bloomed in his cheeks. 

 

"You got a ride home, Dan?" He put his palms on the counter and regarded him with an oddly serious expression, which made Dan pay much more attention as his refolded his arms. 

 

"No...I was going to take a cab. I'm not really..." He hunched his shoulders and looked away briefly. "In a hurry to get home." 

 

Mark straightened, his expression softening with concern. "Trouble at home?”

 

Dan let out a snort. He hadn’t meant it to come off like he was in dire straits. "Oh. No, it's not bad, it's just...my apartment is a shithole. I kind of avoid being there as much as possible." He met Mark's gaze, his fingertip idly circling the cool rim of the glass. "Why do you ask?" 

 

"Um...because you kinda spaced out for a second." Mark strode to the far end of the bar and leaned over and pulled out a can of peach pear-flavored La Croix, cracking it open and taking a gulp. 

 

"Heh, you not allowed to drink on the job?" 

 

"Can't. My body can't process alcohol properly, or it couldn't before. I used to take medication for it but after ending up in the hospital, found out I can't drink it at all or I'll just straight up die."

 

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry. Must...make being a bartender hard, though.” 

 

Mark shrugged, holding his can between his thumb and forefinger and pacing back to his spot in front of Dan. "Eh. Don’t need to drink to be good at my job. Just means I have a good memory of what most things taste like if I’m recommending something. I do miss doing shots of Fireball whiskey, though. Heh, I could fucking  _ destroy _ a bottle of that shit.” 

 

Again, Dan had been listening but his mind heard the word 'body' and his eyes tracked to Mark's body, growing hot under the collar seeing the dimensions of his body push through the tight button-up shirt and leather pants, dimly wondering what he'd look like without all of it on. 

 

_ Hmm... _

 

Mark loudly cleared his throat and Dan looked up his face to see Mark looking down at him with a pointed smirk. 

 

"I'm...kinda regretting giving you that drink now." 

 

Dan swallowed his mouthful of Barenjager. "Why?" 

 

Mark sucked his teeth, raising his eyebrow. "Because that's the second time I've caught you staring at me. I know I'm literally the only person here but I’m not  _ that _ hot.” 

 

Dan’s initial reaction may have been to deny he had been staring at Mark, which he was, but another impulse started to rise up in him. He tilted his head to the side, giving him a playfully quizzical look. “Says who?” 

 

“Um...nobody? I just know my own strengths. The only thing I can do for tips is to try be funny and make people laugh but I never, EVER make more money than the chick who’s usually standing next to me with big boobs, even if I do fancy tricks like spin the bottles.” 

 

Maybe it was because he wasn’t sober, Dan found that incredibly hard to believe. “Even still...you’re pretty…” He had enough of his faculties that he tried to find the best possible word but his mental dictionary was incredibly lacking. “...striking.” 

 

Mark raised an eyebrow: not offended or amused but merely curious, wanting Dan to elaborate. “ ‘Striking’?” 

 

“Yeah, I mean...you have interesting...features.” That hadn’t been a complete lie. Mark had an interesting blend of facial features that may have been strange on anybody else that complemented him perfectly or came together in an attractive way at least. Even Mark’s body was striking. He was sure if he was sober or not trying so hard, he might feel a bit jealous that Mark looked more fit than him from what he could see but now he could help his eyes creep around his arms especially, wanting to maybe feel the firm muscle of Mark’s arms like a giddy schoolgirl, wondering if he was as buff as he looked. 

 

He must not have been paying attention to where he was looking because Mark then chuckled, wrinkling his nose at him. "Ah. You're one of  _ those _ kinds of drunks." 

 

Dan sputtered. "Psssh, I'm not...I’m not  _ drunk _ ...and if I was...what kind of drunk am I if you’re so smart?" Dan winced. His Jersey accent was coming out. That wasn't a good sign. 

 

"You, my friend, are a flirty drunk. It's fascinating seeing one trying to make a pass at whoever just passes by so being on the receiving end..." He snorted, only succeeding in making Dan pout with indignation. 

 

"Whatever, dude. You think I'm flirting with you because you're the only one here?" 

 

_ Oops.  _

 

"I-! I mean, I'm not...pfft, I'm not  _ flirting _ with you, I'm just-" 

 

Mark twisted his lips trying to stifle his laughter. "Just what?" 

 

"Having a conversation, jeez!" Dan dropped his face onto the counter, pillowing it with the crook of his arm and groaned as embarrassing heat flooded his face and Mark's chocolate rich chuckles washed over him. 

 

"Hey, it's okay. I'm..." As Mark's laughter subsided, he sighed and Dan lifted his head and brushed his curly hair back from his face. "Can I be honest with you?" 

 

An involuntary shiver went tickling down Dan's spine. "S-sure." 

 

"Heh." Mark brought a hair and combed his fingers through his red and black hair, his eyes shifting and shy. "I don't mind you flirting with me. You're cuter than the guys I usually have to kick out at last call so...consider yourself a big exception to my rule of not hitting on customers." 

 

"Why do you have a rule about-?"

 

Mark sighed heavily. "Because it's not  _ that _ kind of bar. That and I'm not really good a flirting with guys anyway. Believe it or don't, I'm pretty antisocial when I’m not working, y’know...hustlin’ and getting people drunk. It’s just a personal rule, anyway.” 

 

Dan’s mind tracked back through Mark’s words and circled around one statement in particular as if outlining it in marker. “You...think I’m…” He gulped. “...’cute’?” 

 

Mark scowled jokingly. “C’mon, man. Don’t make it weird.” 

 

Mark must have seen his expression shift as he looked down at the counter, trying to make out the little, colored spots and milky veins in the dark marble because he saw Mark place his palms on the counter again. He looked up and Mark was hunched over, the fringe of his hair hanging wild over one side of his forehead in a vivid red wave, smirking at him. 

 

"Aww. Does Danny need his ego stroked?" 

 

Dan gulped hard, heat rushing quickly down his body, quickly clamping his thighs together to keep his knees from shaking. Was it just him or did Mark’s voice get even deeper? 

 

"Uh...m-maybe?" He cursed himself as his voice came out nervous and squeaky. 

 

Mark purred and another rush of heat snaked down his spine. "I meant it when I said I couldn't take my eyes off you, y'know." His eyelids lowered briefly, his voice a smooth, luscious growl. "I don't remember what song it was but there was one where you did this hip swivel thing. I was actually pouring shots and I got fucking Jagermeister all over the counter. I hope you’re fucking happy.” 

 

"I'll pay for that," Dan blurted out, instantly felt stupider having said it. 

 

"Oh...are you?" Somehow, Mark's voice dropped even lower and Dan's eyelids fluttered. Mark regarded him, pursing his lips slightly. “Show me.” 

 

Dan blinked, out of sorts. “Huh?” 

 

Mark shifted ever so slightly from behind the counter, not taking his eyes off Dan all the while. “Show me that hip swivel thing you did and we’ll call it even.” Mark took one hand off the counter, smirking as he gestured for Dan to get up and turn around. 

 

Dan glanced from Mark to a spot a few feet away on the floor, sliding off the barstool. “What, right here?” 

 

Mark leaned further over the counter, propping his elbow up and putting his head in his head, giving a slight nod, his expression a blend of naughty but cool. 

 

Fuck it, he thought. 

 

With a practiced, almost theatrical gesture, he tossed his jacket off, seeing out of the corner of his eye it hit the edge of the barstool and then slide right off onto the ground. He looked over his shoulder to Mark, who suddenly had his phone out and was typing something with his thumb before setting it on the counter and there barely a second’s pause before “Pony” by Ginuwine started to come out of the phone’s speakers. 

 

Dan snorted, his head snapping forward and letting his hair curtain his face. “Oh my god, really?!” 

 

He looked back at Mark and could see a cheeky smile peeking behind his hand and then gesture him to get on with it. 

 

Dan huffed hard, combing his hand through his hair, brushing it back from his face. How did I end up in this situation, he fretted but his limbs were warm and heavy, his eyelids drooping. He met Mark’s gaze with a languid, almost tamed look in his eyes as the music seemed to seep into his bones, his muscles. 

 

“So...was it...something like this?” He turned around more fully to meet Mark’s gaze, trying to plant his feet on the mirrored floor and started to work his hips in a serpentine shape, the house lights glinting off the metal buckle of his belt as his skinny jeans slipped ever so slightly down his hips while the bottom of his T-shirt rose up his stomach, a band of skin creeping ever so slightly into view.  

 

Dan’s lips parted, an inaudible pant rising up from his throat, as his head starts to tip forward and then roll over his shoulders, his palms resting on his upper thighs. 

 

He didn’t even know what he was going to do: either merely draw his hands up to his shirt or take it off entirely. With the combination of the Barenjager or being alone with Mark silently urging him on with his steady, interested gaze, he was sure it could have gone either way. 

 

Instead, he ended up taking a tiny step backward without looking and losing his footing on the slick waxed floor, letting out a “JESUS FUCK!” and toppling backward, hitting the floor and only just barely catching himself from smashing the back of his head on the floor under him. His hair did most of the cushioning, thankfully.  

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, hissing at the fleeting pain as the music halted abruptly and he felt a pair of scalding hot hands hoist him up almost too easily into a sitting position. 

 

“Shit! Oh my god, are you okay?!” 

 

Dan’s head lolled, blearily looking at Mark’s worried face. He wanted to say he was fine but, instead his brain overwrote that command, giving Mark a woozy smile. 

 

“Whoa...you’re..strong.” 

 

Mark laughed, his worried expression not completely leaving his face but looking more relieved Dan didn’t appear too hurt. He didn’t feel that hurt, going momentarily limp in Mark’s strong arms like a tipsy rag doll. “And you are _some_ lightweight. You didn’t even finish the glass, dude. Honestly, you were better off drinking Pepsis all night.” 

 

Dan pursed his lips, sputtering. “Yeah well...some fucking...hot guy talked me into it so…”

 

_ Shit, did he just-? _

 

Mark snorted. “Oh, REALLY? Before it was ‘striking’, now I’m ‘hot’?” 

 

“Psh, whatever. Don’t make a federal case out of it…” Dan muttered, giving a shrug. He was now too worn out to even deny it anymore. 

 

Dan’s eyes popped open in surprise as Mark pulled him onto his feet but not before he sank his forehead into Mark’s firm shoulder, his knees just barely keeping him upright. 

 

“I...think...I ought to take you home. Is that okay?” 

 

Dan wanted to say ‘Okay’ or more helpfully, give Mark his address. Instead he buried his face further into Mark’s shoulder, wrapping his arm around his upper back for support and inhaling the scent of a million mingled types of alcohol, sweet and tangy, blending with the smell of some familiar but hard to identify deodorant, making him think of Bob Ross style snow-covered cabins in the mountains, surrounded by pine trees. 

 

“Are...you gonna tell me where you live or just smell me some more?” 

 

“Mmmn…” 

 

Mark sighed heavily, biting back a chuckle. “Okay. Have it your way. I’ll take you to my place, let you crash on the couch...since you can’t tell me where you live n’all.” Mark gave Dan a sharp shake on the shoulder. “HEY. Don’t fucking fall asleep on me.” 

 

Dan groaned, finally pulling his head away from the crook of Mark’s shoulder. “‘M not!” he protested, annoyed at himself for sounding so much like a fussy toddler. 

 

Mark peered at him for a moment, his eyes searching before he sighed, scooping up Dan’s jacket with one hand. “Don’t make me regret doing this…” he muttered before leading Dan to the door. 

 


End file.
